Remain Nameless
by Mythian
Summary: "You are made of the sea and the stars, and one day you are going to find yourself again." - F. Butler - Series of drabbles encompassing Korra's adventures after season 3 and into season 4, though the rest of the crew will likely make appearances on occasion. *Requests Welcome*
1. Thief

Disclaimer: _Avatar: The Last Airbender _and _The Legend of Korra _are property of Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko and Nickelodeon. I claim no authorship, ownership, or "melon lordship" over the original characters, plot, etc.

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><p>Thief<p>

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><p>The first time she steals it's because she's so hungry she can barely stand. It's been several days since she's had something to eat that wasn't from a dumpster, and the Earth Kingdom garb she donned upon leaving the South hangs loosely upon her gaunt, shadowed frame as she walks between the merchant stalls and weaves around early-morning shoppers, carefully assessing her surroundings as she searches for the best target.<p>

Fortune presents itself in the form of an aged and weather-bowed man. His back is turned as he works slowly to unload the produce from an overloaded cart strapped to an ornery looking ostrich-horse. Stepping slightly to the left, she brushes her foot across the gravel and sends vibrations shooting forth through the earth beneath the animal's feet. It bucks in fright at the tremor, knocking into the old man and dumping several papaya fruit into the dirt.

She's quick because she has to be, and before the old man can right the straw hat upon his head and hurl curses at the beast, she has tucked two plump papayas into her bag. Turning and walking away would be the best option, and she knows it's what any street-smart individual would do. At least that's what _he _had told her once. But _he's _not here. It's just her, and she feels bad for causing the man trouble.

Reaching down, she begins to gather some of the spilled fruit into her arms. The man eyes her warily but relaxes slightly when he realizes the young woman's intentions.

"Thank you, young lady. I do appreciate the help."

She nods curtly and unloads another armful of fruit to the stand. Working quietly, they make quick work and relieve the cart of the remaining load. Tipping her chin, she turns to leave.

"Wait!"

She stops and slowly turns, braced to flee when confronted.

"For your help," the man says as he presses a large papaya into her hands.

She palms the fruit then tucks it safely into her bag next to the two she stole.

"Thank you, Sir," she bows her head. She can't bring herself to meet his gaze. After all, she's the Avatar. Her duty is to help the people of the world, not steal from them. She forces a small smile, bows once more and disappears into the crowd.

Later she remembers she doesn't even like papayas, but it's all she has.

She'll save one for later.

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><p>AN: This is the first in a series of random drabbles that take place after season 3 and before and into season 4 of LoK. Most of these will be 500 words or less, though some may be longer. Feel free to offer requests. I can't promise I'll fill them all, but I will certainly consider each one.

Thanks for reading!


	2. Anemone

A/N: I am so freaking proud of this. I poured quite a bit of self into this one. I didn't set out to write it. It pretty much wrote itself. My journey over the past couple of years is parallel to Korra's in a way, and it's so damn refreshing to see a character as real and as raw as she is.

Title comes from the anemone flower, which symbolizes fading hope and a feeling of having been forsaken.

Disclaimer: _Korra _belongs to Bryke.

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><p>Anemone<p>

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><p>The ache never ceases. It burns through her body like the metallic poison forced into her system by the Red Lotus, licking and tasting every vessel, every vein, every organ. It is relentless and constant and persistent and dull.<p>

It exhausts every ounce of strength she manages to save.

(a cage imprisoning her very essence)

She can't escape it. Nor can she escape the wheelchair.

Her limbs are not hers. They ignore her every command, render her completely dependent on others. And she loathes herself because of it. She doesn't want their help. Or their pity or sadness or tears.

She longs, more than anything, to be just Korra, but she's not. She's so much more and nothing all at once.

(nothing)

The elements she spent lifetimes mastering tremble deep within, like an adjacent heartbeat.

Slowly thrumming, murmering.

The tide swells. The earth rumbles. The fire flickers. The air whispers.

There is still life.

But she can't feel it.

(she feels nothing)

They don't expect the strong ones to fall. And so when it happens, no one knows how to respond. They scamper about, clumsily picking up and piecing together the bits and fragments of the whole, but their efforts are pointless.

Only the broken know to where the shards should be returned. Only the broken can piece themselves back together.

The rest of them can simply sit.

And watch and wait.

And…

(hope)

And she needs them to hope.

(because she can't)


	3. Wraith

A/N: The first appearance of ghostly Korra. She will make a few appearances along the way.

Disclaimer: _Korra _belongs to Bryke.

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><p>Wraith<p>

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><p>The Water Tribe skiff glides listlessly across the black surf as Republic City glints brightly in the distance against the darkened sky like a thousand twinkling stars. A hint of autumn's breath hovers in the breeze, and she shivers slightly, not with the chill but with anticipated reunions.<p>

She had informed no one of her arrival. She's not really sure why. Perhaps the idea of expectations still scares her. It was, after all, enough to drive her from the South in search of a more tangible return to self.

Air Temple Island emerges from the night, bright and refreshing as the dawn, and she smiles because she can almost hear her beloved tiny airbenders' squeals of delight at her return. After all this time, she's finally there.

Home.

This is home.

And then she sees it, the wraith, standing upon the jetties, its figure hunched and stiff, eyes alight with an eerie glow, the chain around its arm glimmering in the mist. The full moon glares behind it, and waves crash against the rocks.

It stares at her, through her, daring her to come closer.

Her breath hitches, and sweat pricks upon her skin. Closing her eyes, she wills forth a gust of air and propels the skiff away, away from the island, the city, home.

Away from herself.

She can't stay. Not here.


End file.
